Get Ready

Jazz sits between Amy's legs, the soft teeth of a brush sliding through her thick hair, each stroke coaxing a small sigh loose. The relief rolls down Jazz's spine and into her shoulders until she feels boneless. Amy moves the brush lower, trailing its bristles across Jazz's nipples. The sudden shock is electric, sweet—her breath catches and the air in the room tightens. She leans back, and Amy's palm answers with a firm swat to one upturned cheek, the sound landing like a small drumbeat between them. Fingers follow the same path, brushing, tugging, lingering. A cool palm cups Jazz's breast while toes brush across another's ankle, skin to skin and quickening. Before long their hands find the dark curls between their legs; slow fingers part slick, warm folds, circling, sinking in, the rhythm steady as the brushing earlier but far more intimate. Jazz's mouth finds Amy's neck, open and damp, while the wet click of each thrust echoes soft and steady between four open thighs.